


His Greatest Weakness

by Guanin



Series: Antipodal Shadows [10]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maroni finds out about Oswald, and he is far from pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Greatest Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos, guys!

Jim kept the blinds shut in his apartment for the rest of the day and night, carefully watching the neighboring windows when Oswald left in the evening and made his way to his car in the alleyway, but saw nothing amiss. The next day, as he returned to work, he watched out for any suspicious cars on his street or a tail, not surprised when he didn’t spot anything that stood out. Good surveillance never did. He called the managers of the two buildings across from his to find out if there were any empty apartments or recent tenants facing the alley. Both calls went to voicemail. Only one of them got back to him. No empty apartments and no new tenants in the last six months. That was too long of a time gap. But the other building, the one that hadn’t returned his call, was closer, with better vantage points. He should tell Oswald just in case. It might still be nothing, but his gut told him otherwise.

`````````  
Paperwork. The bane of every manager's existence. Strictly speaking, the worst of it was below Oswald’s pay grade by this point, but, if one was particularly voracious, there were so many juicy secrets to be gleaned from the books’ pages. And, of course, there were the wonders of creative accounting. So helpful to maintaining a healthy pocketbook. Not that he had been skimming off the top yet, but it would prove most beneficial in the future to know precisely where every cent came from and where it went to. 

His phone rang. Jim's name appeared on the caller ID. He was about to flip it open when someone slipped inside the room. It was Rick, one of Maroni's bodyguards, holding his pistol at his side, a stern gaze in his eyes. Oswald tensed, instantly on high alert. He had a gun in his inner pocket, but he wouldn't be fast enough, not to shoot Rick, and certainly not to shoot the second bodyguard, Smits, who followed right behind him, gun also out. Where were Oswald's men? Bought? Taken out? 

"Drop the phone and keep your hands on the desk," Rick said.

Slowly, Oswald put the phone back down. 

"What's this about, fellas?" he asked, smiling nervously.

"Don Maroni wants to talk to you."

"He doesn't need you to point a gun at me to do that. I'm at his disposal."

"He wanted to insure that your talk would be private. And undisturbed."

Rick looked at the ringing cell phone and terror clutched Oswald. Oh, please no.

He flipped the phone open and dove his head down to it.

"Maroni is coming for you. Run! Ahh!"

Rick yanked him back by the hair and struck him on the head with his gun. Oswald fell against the chair, his head a mass of nausea and pain. The unforgiving coldness of a metal barrel pressed against his temple. 

"You shouldn't have done that," Rick said. “It’s not going to help him, anyway.”

Someone was binding Oswald's hands to the armrests with duct tape. Oswald opened bleary eyes. Smits. 

"Don Maroni wants you whole," Rick said, lowering the gun once Smits ensured that Oswald couldn't move his wrists. "Unbruised is optional."

"What about Gordon?" Oswald asked. "What does Maroni want with him?"

"It wasn't our place to ask," Smits said, sneering down at Oswald. "But I wouldn't hold out for hope for your boyfriend."

The last word made Oswald shudder. Maybe it was just a taunt. Word had gotten around about their friendship since Oswald had been foolish enough to order a hit on Manning's head, but Jim had been hours away from death. Oswald hadn't given a fuck about the consequences. But there was no way for anyone to know that they had grown more intimate, not yet. It was too soon. Unless someone had been watching them. Watching their apartments. Had Maroni ordered it? But he already knew that Jim was precious to Oswald. Did he want to confirm exactly how much? When had he stopped trusting Oswald? Had he ever done so? 

Oswald should have put a protection detail on Jim after the attack, he knew it, but Jim would never have accepted it and he would resent Oswald if he did it in secret. Yet, better a living Jim that hated him than a dead one that liked him. Fuck! 

Oh God. Jim could be dying right now and it would be Oswald's fault. It was all his fault. Ice clenched every cell in his body. His stomach heaved, breath starting to shudder, but he shut his mouth firmly, refusing to show these men how terrified he was for the life of the only man he had ever loved more than his own soul. 

```````  
"Maroni is coming for you. Run! Ahh!"

Jim’s veins froze, hand tightening on the phone at Oswald’s cry of pain.

“Oswald!” he called into the phone, ignoring the stares of the people in the street around him. 

Maroni had turned on Oswald. Shit. He had found out that Oswald was a mole. He had to have. He had been the one watching Jim’s apartment. And there was only one way that mobsters dealt with snitches. 

_A snitch is condemned to die._

Dear God no. 

Jim had already exited the precinct after his shift when he made the call. People surrounded him on all sides, a maze of commuters and hipster kids and middle aged couples, any of which could be gunning for him right now. He called Oswald’s name again, but the call was disconnected. He had to get to Oswald, but he didn’t know where he was. The restaurant. Any of Maroni’s warehouses. And if someone was after him, too, he had no time at all. None. Oswald was going to die and there was nothing he could do. 

From the corner of his left eye, he saw a face that he thought he recognized from when Maroni dragged him to his restaurant. Jim turned, reaching for his sidearm when something pricked his side. He raised his elbow to smack the person behind him, but he missed the man’s head, his arm sluggish, muscles growing heavy and inoperative. The man was middle aged, with glasses and a beer belly, dressed like so many of the lawyers hurrying down the sidewalk. Jim fell against him, feet barely scuffling on the ground, eyes blinking shut as the first man he had seen slung an arm around his shoulders and dragged him into a car. Jim struggled, or rather tried to, but his limbs weren’t responding, eyes only open by sheer force of will. When his body hit the backseat, not even that will was enough to keep him from losing consciousness. 

``````````  
The first thing Jim perceived when he woke up was the scent of oregano. He was slouched on a stiff chair in a private seating area at Maroni’s restaurant, as he discovered when he managed to open his eyes, feeling like a cement truck had dumped its contents on his head. His hands were handcuffed to the backrest. Even if he did pick up the chair and run, two of Maroni’s men were scowling down at him. Looking over his shoulder, Jim discovered two more. Shit. 

“Good evening, Detective Gordon,” Maroni said, entering the room and sitting across from him as if they were meeting for a pleasant dinner. “I regret that we had to meet again under these circumstances, but, given your past history, I feared that you might try something foolish if I merely asked you to come by.”

“What have you done to Cobblepot?” Jim asked, not disguising his anger.

“Nothing yet. I wanted to have a little chat with you first.”

“Why?”

“You know, when I first had you and Penguin sitting at my table, I got the feeling that there was a little something between you two. Some sort of connection. Apart from you declining to kill him, I mean. But you and him sleeping together… That surprised me. You’ve pissed off everyone at the GCPD and the mayor by refusing to be anything less than an honest cop, yet you’re having sex with a player like that. And on Christmas, no less. I’ve got to give it to you. You like keeping people guessing. But the problem is, Jim, that, in my line of work, I don’t like guessing. I like to know.”

“What is it that you want to know?”

“Now, Jim. Let’s not have a repeat of last time. You know what it is I am asking about.”

“I don’t know anything about how Oswald manages his business. He doesn’t tell me and I don’t ask. The only time when it’s come up is when you made him tell me to let Masi go. When you hit him.”

Jim couldn’t and wouldn’t disguise the hard edge in his voice at the last sentence. Insultingly, Maroni appeared amused. Jim’s hands fisted on the chair, wanting to punching the teeth out of that shark smile.

“I knew that little trick would get you.”

“Trick?”

“Come on, Jim. That man cares a lot about you. Too much to lie to you for me if he could get away with it.”

“I don’t know what—“

Maroni slammed his hand down on the table, making Jim shake, the smile vanishing into a deep glower.

“Don’t,” he said, “lie to me.”

Slowly, Jim inhaled and exhaled, striving to control the shivers in his muscles. Maybe, if he played along, if he kept Maroni happy, he might make it out alive and convince Maroni to let Oswald live, too. Maybe he might get a miracle.

“Alright,” he said. “He told me it was a ruse.”

“Good. Keep telling the truth. It will help you.”

“Will it? Will it help him?”

“I can’t make any promises, Jim. You just keep talking and we’ll see how things play out. Now tell me, for how long has your dear Oswald been working for Falcone?”

Oh, fuck.

“You think he’s a snitch.”

“That is not an answer to my question.”

“You want me to incriminate him. I won’t.”

“Your evading the question already incriminates him, so you might as well say it.”

“No.”

“I told before. I’m not a man who likes to ask twice.”

“It doesn’t matter how many times you ask it. I’m not going to say what you want to hear for you to justify killing him.” 

“I don’t really need to keep you alive. In fact, the more you annoy me, the less inclined I am to do so.”

“I never had many expectations about surviving this.”

“I already know that Penguin is working for Falcone. It’s not like you would be ratting him out. You would die for something so petty?”

“I won’t betray him. That may seem petty to you, but it isn't for me."

Strangely, this made Maroni smile.

“He means that much to you, huh?”

Jim didn’t answer, refusing to rise to the bait.

“Tell me,” Maroni continued. “What will you do to ensure his continuing good health?”

“You want me to work for you?”

“I want to know how much you care about Oswald Cobblepot. How badly you want him to keep breathing.”

There was only one thing that Jim could say, only one possible escape. He shut his eyes, inhaling his last breath as an honest cop.

“I’ll work for you. If you let Oswald live, I will work for you.”

````````  
"You did good with that Jim Gordon, Penguin," Maroni said as he entered the office, startling Oswald. He sat up as straight as he could in his chair, wincing at the soreness in his right thigh, aching from being stuck in the same position for so long. 

“He refused to say a word against you, even with his life on the line,” Maroni continued. “Such devotion is hard to find. I would congratulate you if you weren’t backstabbing me by telling my secrets to Falcone.”

“Please, Don Maroni,” Oswald said, voice as subservient and piteous as possible. “Jim knows nothing about my business.”

“He knows you work for Falcone. Wouldn’t say it out loud, but it was clear. I thought it was pretty curious how Falcone didn’t kill him for disobeying him. Unless, Gordon was ordered to only make it seem like he’d killed you.”

“No. Jim knew nothing, I swear. Falcone really did order him to kill me.”

“Then how come you went back to licking his boots?”

“I’m not—“

“There is only one way that Falcone could have known about my gun shipment. Someone in my organization told him. And that has been bothering me, because I can’t allow someone who I so generously gave my trust and protection to to snitch on me and get away with it. That sort of disrespect will not stand. And you already snitched on your old employer. That’s a precedent right there. So I asked your man Donovan what you have been up to. Not as much devotion there as with your Jim. He says that you have been communicating with Falcone. That you had a meeting with him right after he and I made peace.”

“Please, Don Maroni. I only agreed to snitch for Falcone in exchange for Jim being given the order to kill me, because I knew that he would hesitate to murder someone. In the event that I lived, I would work for Falcone. I did this only to save my life. If I hadn’t provided that information when I did, Falcone wouldn’t have backed off in getting me back. He would have killed me one way or the other. I was only trying to survive. Please, I meant no disrespect to you.”

Maroni grabbed the stapler from the desk and stabbed the joined, metal end hard on Oswald’s right thigh, straight onto his injury. Oswald screamed. Pain erupted in his muscles, white hot and blinding, leaving him unable to breathe. Maroni struck him again and Oswald keened, doubling over, gasping shallow breaths that burned in his throat.

“You infiltrate my house, you steal my money, you kill Frankie, and then you dare tell me that you meant no disrespect?” 

Maroni yanked Oswald’s hair back hard, pulling his head taut against the hard back of the chair so that he would get a good look at Maroni’s merciless face. 

“Please,” Oswald gasped. “There has to be some way that I can make it up to you, that I can show you how deeply regretful I am. I’ll do anything you ask. Falcone’s organization is in turmoil. It’s splitting apart at the seams. I could get you a piece of it.”

Maroni smiled, mouth as sharp as a razor’s edge. 

“You would say anything to stay alive, wouldn’t you?” Maroni’s grip on his hair relaxed. He stroked his head gently. Oswald wanted to spit in his face. “You would turn the tables between me and Falcone again? But who would you be playing this time? You don’t watch out for anyone but yourself. And Jim Gordon.”

“Jim is innocent. He is not complicit to anything I have done.”

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Slowly, hating himself for having revealed so much, Oswald nodded.

“You would do anything for him?”

Oswald nodded again.

“Yes,” he said. 

Maroni straightened up, slipping his hands in his pockets with an air of satisfaction.

“You know, you have a good idea about working against Falcone for me. I like it. And to ensure that you remember who you need to be truly loyal to, I’ll make it simple. If Falcone finds out, I figure he will kill you. But if you betray me again, I’ll kill Jim Gordon. And I won’t make it quick.”

Nausea made Oswald’s head swim, terror mixing with cold fury in his veins. 

He was going to rip Maroni’s throat out and watch him bleed to death at his feet. 

“I’ll do what you say,” Oswald said. “I won’t betray you again, I swear it.”

```````````  
One of the guards unlocked the handcuffs from Jim’s wrists. Jim wanted to grab the man and throw his head against the table, punch, maim, but he let his hands just lie there, bringing them slowly up to his lap while he gazed expectantly at the entrance of the room. Maroni had been gone for a long time, an eternity that had been punctuated by a pair of cries coming from somewhere in the back, screams that Jim recognized as Oswald’s. He had fought against his bonds then, yanking at the cruel metal keeping him from saving Oswald from such pain, hating the men who forced him to sit here, helpless to do anything to stop it. 

A guard returned his gun to him, chamber empty and without the magazine. Jim took with in a tense grip, briefly fantasizing about striking him on the head with it, taking the man’s gun, and shooting his way out of the restaurant with Oswald in tow. Reality was never so kind. They escorted him out of the room and into the main hall of the restaurant, but Oswald wasn’t there. Jim wasn’t leaving without him. Then he heard the heavy step of Oswald’s limping gait, moving slower than usual, coming from the kitchen. Jim met him at the doors, dismayed at seeing how heavily Oswald leaned on the umbrella clutched in his left hand when stepping forward, wincing as he put weight on his right leg. There was a red mark on his forehead, but nothing else, nothing he could see, in any case, just a wan face and wide eyes that peered at him with the same amount of fear and relief that Jim felt. Jim wanted to wrap him up in his arms and tell that they would find a way out of this, but there were too many people watching. He dared not even touch Oswald on the shoulder to offer his support as they walked out of the restaurant, knowing that Oswald would hate to look weak in front of Maroni’s men. 

“I should drive,” Jim said as they made their way around the building and into the parking lot.

“Alright.”

Oswald paused for a moment to dig into his pocket for his car keys when his gaze became fixed on a man standing across the small lot throwing a cigarette on the ground, gaping at Oswald in shock. Oswald’s face darkened.

“He ratted me out,” Oswald said.

The man started to run, but Jim was on him before he got far, throwing him into the wall and punching him in the gut, twice, making him double over in pain, then he kicked him in the face with his knee, forcing him down before what rational part of his brain was left told him to stop before he killed him. Oswald walked up beside him, glaring at the man moaning on the gravel with a look that promised the death that Jim was not willing to give him.

“It appears,” Oswald told the man, “that I did not pay you enough, either.”

Jim didn’t know who the “either” referred to, but it was obvious that Maroni had paid the guy off to snitch on Oswald. 

“Maroni already knew,” the man said, looking pleadingly up at Oswald as if hoping for understanding. Bastard. 

“No,” Oswald said. “He suspected. After you told him my business, business which I paid you very handsomely to keep quiet, that is when he knew.”

Oswald struck him hard across the face with his umbrella, making him cry out. Jim took a step toward Oswald, whether to stop him or not, he wasn’t sure, but Oswald didn’t hit him again despite the anger shaking his limbs. Jim suspected that it was only his presence that was holding Oswald back from beating the man to death. 

Another man was lurking behind them. Jim turned around, ready to take him on, too, if necessary, but the man raised his hands up in surrender. He was older than the one on the ground, face rounder. Jim had seen him before, driving Oswald’s car.

“How about you?” Jim asked, fists clenching again. “Did you betray your boss, too?”

“No,” the man said, sounding scared, but then he would, wouldn’t he? “I swear. I didn’t know anything was going down until Maroni’s men forced me leave.”

“He’s telling the truth,” the man on the ground said. “It was just me.”

“I would dearly love to believe that,” Oswald said. “But how can I possibly be sure?”

“I’m still here. I didn’t try to run like Donovan did.”

“You would have looked guilty if you did,” Oswald said.

“But I’m not. I swear, boss. I had nothing to do with this.”

After examining him for a moment, Oswald stepped up to him and said something in his ear. Jim frowned, gut tensing when the man looked anxiously at the one Jim had beaten. After a moment, the man nodded, and Oswald turned to Jim.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Jim hesitated, looking back down at the man on the pavement, who was looking at the three of them with the same fear that Jim had seen before on Oswald’s face when Harvey told Jim to put a bullet in him.

He joined Oswald, but before they could get far, Jim asked him, voice lowered,

“What did you tell him?” 

“It’s business, Jim,” Oswald said, voice equally low, quickening his pace a bit.

“What did you tell him?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Did you order that man to kill the one who told on you?”

“Jim, please let it go. I’m not making you an accomplice.”

“I’m already an accomplice. Maroni just tied me up and threatened me over you. It’s too late to worry about the niceties. Is he going to kill him, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Oswald said, stopping a couple of paces from the car to turn to face Jim, eyes wild. “If he wants to prove his loyalty to me, yes, he is going to kill him. Donovan betrayed me. I can’t let him live. I won’t. I would look weak. I’m in the mob, Jim. This is how we do business. And I don’t want you to see it because of the way that you are looking at me right now. You said that you don’t lie to yourself about what I do, but seeing it is very different from thinking it, so can we please get in the car and drive away before you end up hating me more than you already do?”

Oswald had lowered his head by the end, the fire having gone out of him. His shoulders were slumped, left hand shaking on the umbrella, leg barely carrying his weight. Jim looked over at the two men across the lot. The one who had been given the order was already holding the other one down. He was looking over his shoulder at them, waiting. Oswald probably told him to delay until they left so that Jim wouldn’t see it. Bile rose in his throat at what was about to happen, but there was nothing he could do. The idea of arresting them was laughable and Oswald would never agree to let the condemned man go. His power had been shattered today. Theoretically, Jim knew that Oswald was right. It would make him look weak to let Donovan go, and lacking strength was a death sentence in this business. Oswald wanted the man dead, anyway. Jim knew that as well. He had been blinding himself this whole time, not asking because it was easier not to see the horror that hid behind Oswald’s sweet smile, willing himself not to contemplate this side of the friend he cherished so much. But Oswald was a killer. He held people’s lives in his hands and he enjoyed it. And that repulsed Jim. It sickened him to his bones. 

Oswald shuffled to the car and leaned against it, umbrella held stiffly at his side, clearly trying to relieve some of the pressure on his leg. He was exhausted. The slightest shove might knock him over. Jim unlocked the car, opening the passenger door for him. Oswald blinked up at him, questioning him with his eyes, anxiety marring his brow.

“Get in,” Jim said softly.

Oswald got in the car and Jim shut the door, deliberately not looking at the two men as he got in and drove out of the lot. They sat in silence, Oswald facing the window, Jim’s hands tight on the wheel. When they had gotten well out of the area, Jim pulled over on a residential street and turned off the car.

“I don’t hate you,” Jim said. 

Oswald turned away from the window, but didn’t look at Jim.

"I don't think I could ever hate you,” Jim continued. “I just agreed to be under Maroni's thumb for you.”

"But you are disgusted with me. I saw it in your face. I haven't seen that since I told you about killing Manning."

"I don't condone murder."

"Then arrest me."

"You honestly think I could? You're my best friend. You're my boyfriend. It's not like I didn't know that you would have that man killed, but you ordering it in front of me... I realized what an idiot I've been ignoring that yes, you are a mobster, and that to you, this is just business. I never wanted to see it."

"I'm sorry. I'm not the type of person you deserve to be with."

"I'm not looking for someone I deserve to be with. I just..."

Sometimes wished that he had never accepted Oswald's scarf. That he had ignored all of Oswald's overtures of friendship and kept things between them simple and untangled. That he hadn't allowed himself to be coaxed into caring for a murderer.

"You wish that this part of me didn't exist," Oswald said. "That I wasn't a gangster. That I wasn't someone that you're ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed of you."

"I'm not complaining. I understand. You're a good, decent man and I bring you down. I should never have embroiled you in my life, but when I started this, I didn't love you. I didn't treasure you like I do now. And now it's too late. I've ruined you. I held on too tightly to you and I ruined you."

Oswald's voice started to waver. Jim frowned at him, almost reaching out to him.

"Oswald. You haven't ruined me."

"A murder was about to happen and you could have stopped it, but you stepped away. Would you have done that four months ago?"

That one had an easy answer.

"No."

"See?" Oswald smiled brokenly. "Ruined you."

Oswald looked like his seams were torn and all it would take was one, firm pull on the right thread to dissolve him completely.

"Oswald," Jim said soothingly, placing his hand on Oswald's jaw. Oswald grabbed his hand, pressing it against his own flesh, fingers squeezing Jim's. "I chose to be your friend. I could have refused you, but I didn't. This isn't all on you."

"Maroni is going to kill you if I don't do precisely as he says. That's on me."

"He told me that he'll kill you if I don't do what he says."

"I'm sure he'll hurt me, but I'm more valuable to him than you. He’ll kill you first and make me watch. My greatest passion has become my greatest weakness. How ironic. I should have known better, should have planned better. I was such an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. You trusted the wrong people. It happens. I've done it. I trusted the GCPD to have my back and the whole precinct walked out on me."

"Crossing Falcone does tend to be suicidal. Your department knew that."

"Yeah, I know better now than to expect their help."

Oswald lowered Jim's hand to his lap and held it with both of his, contemplating it for the longest time before he spoke, voice hard.

"I'm going to kill Maroni. You should know that. I'm going to take over his organization and I'm going to kill him for threatening you. I will not have his axe hanging over your head. I cannot allow that. And I know that you would rather find some way to arrest him and put him in prison for life, but that won't work. Even if you could find someone to prosecute him and get a guilty verdict, that still won't work. In prison, he would still be powerful. He would still get to you. I'm not asking for your help. It will involve a lot of underhanded dealings that are beneath you. It would compromise you too much."

"I'm already compromised. I'm not an innocent, Oswald. I never have been. You haven't ruined me or stained me or whatever nonsense is going through your head. I'm not some pristine flower for you to preserve in a glass case. Don't you dare treat me like that."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I would never treat you so disrespectfully. Not you. I just don't want you to abandon your principles and end up hating yourself."

"I won't. Don’t underestimate me, Oswald.”

“I would never do that, Jim.”

“You’re doing it right now. Do you honestly think that I would stand back and let you take Maroni on alone? I spent an hour handcuffed to a chair, terrified that he would kill you. I thought that the next time I saw you, you would be cold and stiff with a bullet hole in your head. I didn’t care about surviving myself. I only cared about you. I love you, Oswald. I’m not in love with you. I can’t claim that I feel for you what you do for me and I can’t promise that I ever will and I’m sorry for saying that, but there has been enough confusion between us and it’s time we were both honest with each other. I do love you. But I hate that you ordered a man’s death in front of me. I hate that you ordered it at all. I hate that you’ve done it before and that you will do it again and I hate that it isn’t enough to keep me away from you, but it’s not. I knew what I was getting into with you. And I can’t leave you, not even now. Especially not now.”

“You might change your mind about that,” Oswald said, voice subdued, eyes lowered.

“I might.”

Jim placed his right hand atop Oswald’s left and considered their joined hands. One day, he might be strong enough to break this bond. But not now. 

“I’m not going to discuss killing Maroni,” Jim said. “But I will help you bring him down. He threatened both of us. I will not allow him to hurt you again.”

Oswald nodded, looking up at him.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m glad that I have you at my side for this.”

“I’m always on your side. I just don’t always agree with you.”

Jim leaned forward to kiss him. Oswald met him halfway, untangling one of his hands to grab the back of Jim’s head and hold him there, and soon Jim was doing the same, clutching desperately at Oswald’s back, needing to feel him close, warm and alive, still blessedly alive. For as long as he drew breath, he would ensure that Oswald was breathing as well. Oswald’s mouth was soft and warm and wonderful and Jim couldn’t wish himself with anyone else. Not even Barbara. He paused, forehead pressed against Oswald’s, panting in shock at that realization. He analyzed it, a knot tightening in his stomach, but he knew it to be true. Barbara had not been the one in his mind when he feared that he was about to die. His only thoughts had been of Oswald. The feel of Oswald’s arms wrapped around him in bed, his smile, his laugh, his cries of pleasure, his wit, his cooking, his love. Jim had wished for nothing more than to hold Oswald again and love him. He loved Barbara still, but not with the same burning love. Not with the love that compelled one to walk down the altar and wish to spend the rest of their lives together. It was a nostalgic love, a love that had finally begun to fade into fond memory rather than present sadness. A love that recognized that what could have been was not possible in this Gotham with this Jim and this Barbara. One day, he hoped, he could let her go completely. 

“I am so grateful for you, Jim,” Oswald said, clinging to the back of Jim’s neck. 

Jim squeezed his right hand. 

“I will do my utmost to live up to that."


End file.
